


As Advertised

by Lapsed_Scholar



Category: The X-Files
Genre: (Before smart phones), F/M, Humor, Phone Calls, Suggestive humor, Telephone books, UST, classified ads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapsed_Scholar/pseuds/Lapsed_Scholar
Summary: Skinner’s attempt to save himself a little bit of a headache by giving the X-Files office its own phone number ironically turns out to give him even more of a headache when an individual unknown decides to publicize it as belonging to the Sexy FBI.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	As Advertised

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic exists because @alienqueequeg laughs at my jokes.

Fox Mulder can’t sleep. It’s not a particularly new affliction for him. It’s more common than not, really, but there’s a particular strain of restlessness in him tonight that’s got him pacing his apartment floor, flicking on the TV only to turn it back off again, and picking up the wireless phone several times to call Scully before talking himself out of it—let her sleep, he asks too much of her already.

The phone in his hand and the jittery feeling skittering along his nerves have him thinking of a different sort of number to call—900 numbers were once a semi-regular habit, but it’s been quite awhile, and he lets his mind skitter around to avoid the topic of why that might be, or about how he’d probably get more out of calling Scully’s answering machine, because that’s the thing that _really_ makes him feel like a pervert. Better when the person on the other end of the phone is aware that you’ll be jacking off to their voice.

Anyway, it’s been awhile; he’s going to have to look this up; so he heaves himself off the couch yet again and paces back along the length of his living room to the table by the door where he dumps his mail, where he remembers tossing a particular magazine last week ( _these are really starting to pile up too, aren’t they, and no don’t think about what you’re thinking about instead; not going down that road tonight_ ) and flips to the section near the back that’s full of small boxes ringed in black, with occasional fully-colored pictures showing just enough detail to pique an interest.

He scans through the listings with an intentionally-blank mind, thinking about not thinking, let’s see what inspires tonight. And he gets inspired all right because there, right in the middle of ads offering the illusion of escape, alluring fantasies, tawdry escapades, or exploration of curiosity, his eyes land on “FBI.” More specifically, “Sexy FBI” (well, it’s actually “Sexxxy FBI” but that’s too much for even him). And as he’s in the middle of wondering if he can do this with a clear conscience, or if it’s maybe just going to depress him, his eyes focus more clearly on the number.

It’s not a 900 number.

It’s not a premium-rate number at all; it has the familiar 202 DC area code.

It is, in fact, the X-Files office phone number.

* * *

Dana Scully has hobbies and a social life, thank you very much. It’s just that one of her hobbies happens to be working on this journal article about the implications of one of their most recent cases, and her social life currently consists of withstanding the urge to call Mulder. Again. On the weekend.

She swears that it’s less pathetic than it sounds.

It’s just that Mulder seems almost charmed, rather than either bored or annoyed by her scientific musings and the sharpness of her mind, and she would dearly like to know what he makes of her newest theory about the mechanism of action of the Black Oil on the human nervous system. He’s her best friend. Of course she wants to talk to him. That’s perfectly respectable.

She is as firm and unyielding in her self-denial as she is aware of its inadequacy.

She will not call Mulder tonight, but she does want to call OSTI tomorrow and see if there’s anything useful in their archives. So she pulls out the most recent federal government directory, skims down through the S section. And then she sees it.

In the middle of the searched-for Office of Scientific and Technical Information (OSTI), the Selective Service System (SSS), the Social Security Administration (SSA), and the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC), she finds an entry for the “Sexy Federal Bureau of Investigation (SFBI).”

She stares at it, trying to figure out if the presence of such an entry in the ordinary, boring government directory is worthy of an X-File.

And then comes the even more surreal realization that she knows the phone number.

It is, in fact, the X-Files office phone number.

* * *

The advent of cell phones has made the phone numbers in the Bureau something of a mess. Instead of neat, orderly extensions, some agents have their own numbers that are tied to their cell phones. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are two such agents; their cards bear their respective cell phone numbers, along with the direct X-Files office number.

How the X Files office came to have its own direct phone number, in addition to its regular FBI extension, is a story (like most stories) that Scully will present only by its observable evidence. Mulder (as customary) could give a more complete, possibly-embellished narrative. The essential sequence of events is as follows:

  1. Fox Mulder had given his card (and a charming, reassuring smile) to a reluctant witness who he suspected had direct knowledge of covert government experiments on mind control.
  2. The witness called the main FBI number and requested the division of the FBI that looked into mind control experiments.
  3. The receptionist who answered the phone thought it was a prank call and hung up.
  4. After several more weeks, the haggard witness appeared at Fox Mulder’s door in the dead of night, gasped that the truth would never be found, and swooned into his bemused and groggy arms.
  5. Dana Scully examined the witness in the hospital, at the request of Fox Mulder, and determined that the man was heavily intoxicated.
  6. Dana Scully and Fox Mulder had a bedside argument about whether a history of substance abuse negates the usefulness of a witness.
  7. The witness woke up to their argument and lamented to Dana Scully that Fox Mulder had promised to help and then hung up on him.
  8. Fox Mulder whirled into the receptionist pool with a great deal of excited energy, making the following points:
    1. They couldn’t just hang up on the public like that
    2. They were impeding his investigations
    3. What kind of public service was an agency that hung up on people, anyway?
    4. How was he supposed to solve cases when important evidence was stolen from him?
    5. The receptionist pool was not equipped to be able to judge whether or not a phone call was crucial evidence or a prank
    6. No one in the FBI was equipped to understand the X-Files except Fox Mulder and Dana Scully
  9. Walter Skinner, who was summoned to the receptionist pool to corral his unruly agent, arrived in time to hear the receptionist counterpoint, namely:
    1. You can answer your own damn phones
  10. Walter Skinner relieved the receptionist pool of Fox Mulder, but also determined that a direct phone line for the X-Files office was an investment that would save him a great deal of this type of trouble in the future.



Skinner’s attempt to save himself a little bit of a headache by giving the X-Files office its own phone number ironically turns out to give him even more of a headache when an individual unknown decides to publicize it as belonging to the Sexy FBI.

* * *

Scully has barely had a chance to make it into the office and sit down on Monday morning when she finds a magazine, folded open to a particular page, slapped down in front of her on the desk.

Mulder, hovering behind her in a way that is entirely too close for personal space, and yet comforting by his proximity, stabs a finger in the general direction of the page, which, she can now see, is a collection of extremely suggestive personal ads offering unnamed but easily-inferred services. It takes her a moment to realize what he’s referring to (she spends a moment staring in mounting confusion and a touch of alarm at an evocative ad for the interestingly-ambiguously-named “Alex”), and then she realizes it’s an ad for the Sexy FBI (or Sexxxy FBI, but, unlike Mulder, she is above that pun). Using their office phone number.

She turns to look back at him. He looks a touch flustered and also like he didn’t get much sleep last night, poor thing. He’s been running his fingers through his hair so that it’s standing on end, and she resists the urge to stand up and smooth it down for him.

“So I take it this isn’t just your new method of meeting sources?”

He twists his mouth in something like a smile. “I guess we _would_ be reaching out to a whole new audience. But, no. I didn’t do this.”

“Well, it’s a diverse audience, anyway,” says Scully. She opens her own briefcase for her own visual aid, and spends a minute basking in the gratification of having her own dramatic reveal. She doesn’t get to do this as much as Mulder does. She hands him the federal directory from last night, open to the S page, where she has neatly circled the newly-minted SFBI.

Mulder’s eyebrows go up fractionally, and he holds one finger on the relevant page while flipping back toward the front cover of the directory. “How old is this thing? How long have we been advertising?”

“Not long. The new copy came out a few weeks ago.” Scully similarly checks the cover of the magazine, raises an eyebrow at the image of the couple on the cover. The placement of the article teasers is very creative. “This is also a new release. Which maybe explains why it’s in such pristine condition and not nearly as sticky as I expected.”

Mulder waves a hand at her. “Work’s been cutting into my personal life. But we’re looking at the space of a few weeks here, maybe a month. I don’t recall anyone calling about these ads in particular yet.”

Scully tilts her head. “Well, there was one call that I took that was nothing but heavy breathing. I just assumed it was Cancer Man and hung up.”

Mulder winces and nods. This makes sense to him, but he suddenly wants to excuse Scully from ever having to answer the phone again.

* * *

They do some investigating. Neither one of them is exactly pleased to have to do it, but the number of questionable calls they receive ramps up, and they really don’t want to have their ad reproduced in any updated editions. Their indignant feelings alternate with feeling somewhat guilty at using FBI time (Scully) and annoyed at the distraction (Mulder).

They take a view of the damage: three mainstream porn magazines, two publications for more niche audiences that Mulder procures with a readiness that intrigues Scully, the _Times_ (but not the _Post_ ), the federal government directory, and the local yellow pages.

Mulder looks at the evidence stacked in the center of the room and chews his lip, wondering if he needs to give in and call the Lone Gunmen to help, or if he’s too proud to spend the rest of their friendship being called “Sexy FBI” (or if he really wants to have to threaten some of his closest friends with physical violence in order to spare Scully any stupid quips).

Sparing Scully from stupid quips also means for Mulder answering the phone with more than his usual alacrity. It doesn’t help that the name of their department is the X-Files. He mentally curses Arthur Dales for that stroke of naming genius.

“X-Files Office. Mulder.”

“‘X-Files’ huh?”

“Yes, sir. What can we do for you?”

“You got any babes with blowjob lips?”

“...Speaking.”

The response to that is an abrupt dial tone. Mulder puts the receiver down with a thoughtful look and peers over at Scully, who is admiring the new medical light boards she had somehow procured and then installed. (That she has also procured a good many of his clothes without his noticing leads him to suspect that she might have a problem with theft, but he adores her far too much to care.)

“He hung up on me,” Mulder observes to Scully.

“Hm,” she mutters. “Must be losing your touch, Mulder.” There is a wicked little smirk in her delivery that will haunt his dreams. He wants to prove her wrong more badly than normal, but he squirms under the desk a little bit instead.

* * *

Walter Skinner has no idea what he’s going to do about the fact that the X-Files office has apparently been advertised in several publications as the “Sexy FBI,” but he’s aware that he has to do something.

He’s almost positive that the two of them wouldn’t do it _themselves_ , but he figures he’d better talk about it with them anyway and summons them to a meeting.

They are sitting side-by-side in the reception room in front of his office, heads bent together as always, arguing in an undertone about a case report that he has not yet reviewed, but which he suddenly is very much not looking forward to reviewing.

“Agents,” he says, at which they both hurriedly stand up. Scully makes a hasty, vain attempt at straightening Mulder’s tie, and then they follow Skinner into his office, with the straightforward dignity of a good soldier (Scully) and the uneasy slump of a child sent to the principal’s office (Mulder).

Skinner sighs as he sits behind his desk, and catches Scully peering at his inbox, where their report still sits undisturbed.

“I don’t know the best way to broach this topic, Agents, but it seems that the X-Files office number has become… unusually advertised—”

“You’re talking about the Sexy FBI.”

Walter Skinner has never been so relieved to be interrupted by Fox Mulder. “You know about it, then?”

Scully clears her throat, “Well, sir, it’s been somewhat… inescapable.”

Skinner raises his eyebrows. Mulder elaborates, “We’ve had our share of heavy breathers and the kind of comments you’d expect from type of pervert who’d call a phone sex line.”

Scully eyes Mulder in a way that Skinner is going to deliberately choose not to think about too much. She adds, “We did have one potential whistleblower who wanted to alert the FBI to financial malfeasance committed by her employer. She said that she ‘wanted the sexy FBI agents instead of the regular ones.’”

“We transferred her to White Collar Crime,” adds Mulder. “No word on how satisfactory the experience was for her, but Stevenson told me that they’re working on a case and thanked me for the referral.”

Skinner pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache building. “Do either of you two have any idea how your office came to be advertised in this manner?”

They glance at each other and shake their heads. “No, sir,” says Scully. “We have been looking into it, but we haven’t found anything conclusive.”

Skinner sighs. “Well, I want to assure you, Agents, that this is not something that the Bureau will tolerate. We’ll be conducting an internal review through Human Resources, and whoever is responsible will be punished. And I apologize on behalf of the Bureau for any… harassment you two may have encountered.”

Scully inclines her head, “We appreciate that, sir.” Mulder nods.

“That’s all for now, Agents.” Skinner watches them leave, Mulder with his hand at Scully’s back, where it usually is. They really are unusually good-looking FBI Agents, but Skinner is also very aware that it is deeply unprofessional for anyone to comment on that, and he intends to ensure that the miscreant responsible is punished.

He does think that it may eventually become necessary for him to comment on their unusual closeness, but he tells himself that he doesn’t have to do that today.

He picks up their report. It heavily insinuates (without ever stating directly) that there is some sort of involvement by shapeshifting cats. Now this is something that he’s _definitely_ going to have to comment on today.

_Goddammit_.

Walter Skinner hates his job.

* * *

There is only one instance where the whole “Sexy FBI” episode spirals out of uncomfortable phone calls and into real life uncomfortable situations. They receive an anonymous tip from a source who doesn’t offer any more identification than an address and, “Come right away.”

Scully scoffs; such a vague tip can’t possibly amount to anything serious. But Mulder stubbornly insists that it’s important to follow up on everything; after all, what would happen if this turned into a vital clue, or a case for some desperate injustice? The set of his jaw tells her that he’s going to pursue this whether or not she goes along with him, so she sighs and tamps down her impatience and goes. Mulder chasing leads by himself is never good, and she’s learned that it’s quicker to intercept him before he makes bad decisions than to extricate him afterwards.

She needn’t have worried, however, because the only thing that happens when they knock on the door is that it is opened by a mild-looking young woman. 

Mulder makes the introductions: “I’m Fox Mulder with the FBI; this is my partner, Dana Scully. Are you the one who called us?”

The woman nods, and then solemnly holds out her wrists. “I’m ready for the cuffs.”

Mulder squints and blinks and opens his mouth to say a few different things, none of which he manages to get out, before he mumbles something about forgetting something back at the car and flees.

Scully looks after him with a sigh, licks her lip, and then turns back to the woman at the door. “You, um, don’t actually have any evidence for us, do you, ma’am?”

“I mean, I’m sure I could find something that would interest you?” asks the woman hopefully.

“No, that’s OK. Thanks,” Scully offers a polite smile and tucks her badge back in her pocket to follow her partner. Maybe at least this experience will chasten him enough to prevent him from recklessly following vague leads for awhile.

* * *

The question of who actually paid to advertise the X-Files office as the Sexy FBI is, suitably enough, never actually solved.

The Human Resources Branch of the FBI puts a great deal of zeal into the operation; they do not normally get such interesting cases to work on. They call all of the involved publications, try to trace all the bank account information, and follow all the leads they can. They are very thorough.

They run into nothing but dead ends. The bank account was opened by an untraceable shell corporation, and funded only with enough money to pay for the ads. All of the contact information given was false: the names aliases, the email addresses single-use burners, and the only phone contact given was for the X-Files office itself.

No one can figure out who would want to do such a thing or why. The ads are summarily canceled, and a new federal directory is issued with a curt notice that there were “errors” in the previous version.

The idea that it’s a plot by the Syndicate to discredit them is floated once by Mulder, but then he stops and shakes his head and says, “No, that’s ridiculous” and saves Scully the trouble.

HR carefully places all of their documentation and evidence and written statements together into a casefile, which eventually gets an X designation and is sent down to the basement as unsolvable.

**X-45723184: Sexy FBI**


End file.
